Qu’ils mangent de la brioche.
(not quite “Let them eat cake”. More like “Let them eat really rich buttery yeasted bread”)
Okay Marie Antoinette, if you insist.
When I was in Paris, I ate my weight in brioche. It’s astounding how something packed with butter and eggs can taste like it is made out of air. Proof: my dad commented offhandedly after tasting this brioche how airy it was, and that I must’ve not used a lot of butter. (I chortled. Chortled.)
Ethereally light, cloud-like, melt-in-your mouth– to me, that’s the sign of a superb brioche. Continue reading →